Free Fade by Chad West

around herself. Her eyes began to droop as soon as she sat down and, within minutes, she was asleep. A loud, static buzz woke her. Her heart slammed against her chest and she stared wide-eyed at the television. A faint picture flickered and danced between thick lines of snow. She fumbled for the remote that had fallen from her hand and flicked it off. “Stupid cable,” she moaned, “scared the mess out of me.”
    Angela sat up, rubbed her face, pushed her hair back. Her stomach gurgled as she got up and walked into the kitchen. Stepping on the leg of her sleep pants—the white ones, covered in kisses—she almost fell. She was about to curse her bad luck, but instead whipped her head sideways at the sight of something in her peripheral vision. There was nothing there but living room. She swallowed, stared at the nothing, then opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a sip. It was cold and soothing as it ran down her dry throat. Another longer drink and she turned again to the living room, thinking maybe she’d pop a movie in if the cable was still out.
    An R&B song, the gist of which was the singer’s desire to kiss his girl up and down all night long, started to play from crumpled jeans on the floor. She sang the lyrics under her breath as she wrestled to pull the phone from the pocket.
    “Hey, Hope,” she said.
    The phone buzzed, followed by a click, signaling that the call had dropped. She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes; her phone flashed, went dead. “Nothing freaking works.” A long sigh followed her as she began walking to her bedroom to plug it in.
    After plugging the phone in, Angela dropped onto her bed, fuming, thinking of all the things she wanted to do to Nathan. It was a list which had changed since the night before. She wished her phone were working so she could call Hope back and vent. Instead, she closed her eyes.
    She had just about succeeded in falling back to sleep when the knock at the door jolted her awake. Sitting up, she growled, slapping a nearby pillow. The idea that it might be Nathan crawled into her mind and she wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, she would love little more than to shred him and slam the door in his face. On the other, she looked and felt like a steaming pile. Trashing him would be far more effective if he saw her in all her glory, able to imagine the sexual wonders which he had missed out on for the rest of his natural life.
    Peering through the peep hole, she had almost convinced herself that it would be him: almost in tears, slouching behind the door. But it was just some guy in a tie. “Better not be some damn Mormon or something,” she hissed and opened it, leaving the chain latched. “Hey.”
    The man, tall and lanky, deep-set, dark eyes, stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment and then smiled. His teeth were long and as gray as the trench coat he wore, and made for an unsettling look. She almost closed the door, but then he spoke.
    “Even after all this time,” his voice seemed to creak like an old hinge, “you girls still have a certain smell to you. I just realized that. Different than the others here.”
    She did go to close the door on the weirdo this time. But his arm snapped from his side and held it open. Angela yelped and tripped back onto her bottom. The man was peering through the few inches of view the chain afforded, his smile broader now. Angela backpedaled and pulled herself to her feet. She ran. The chain snapped.
    “You were all so easy to find. Even though he tried to hide you. Your blood told the tale.” Angela looked at her hand. Blood inexplicably gushed from her palm. “I had to make sure it wasn’t a trap. Jonas became known for his chicanery. Ooh, that’s a good word. I like saying that. Chicanery. Chic, chic, chic. ” His long, pale fingers slid across the wall as he walked. “I did find your Jonas. Not the god our people have built him up to be, but not bad.”
    “Stay